


To Fault a Hero For...

by To_Take_A_Heart



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Humor, I REGRET NOTHING, Product of a Whim, Silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Take_A_Heart/pseuds/To_Take_A_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamriel was known to very easily possess a harsh terrain, and thus possess harsher people within it.<br/>However, If you throw a meddlesome, mayhap-over-powered, dragon-soul owning, air-headed and not to mention slightly cracked Bosmer into the mix... Well, seasoning judiciously with a bit of saucy Altmer just might make this ride one worth remembering. </p><p>[F!Dovahkiin x Rumarin]             From [3DNPC]s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Altruism

**Author's Note:**

> Literally got the idea for this in the middle of gaming, saved, quit, opened up a document and got this down all in one sitting.  
> So yeah.  
> I'd ask to pardon any mistakes, but to also pardon the, erm, special style of writing that I have...?  
> Also, please do enjoy. I'd like that most of all~

I may have enthused about this once before, but I love wintertime. Just, well. Not when it’s smacking me in the face, trying to strangle me and pontificating to the husband that he’s next. I mean, Rumarin is more likely to laugh at it, and then ask me in a nervous voice to kill it, but, well. I also may have murdered just about every kind of thing that has a pulse or is capable of stabbing me, but putting the hurt on a force of nature isn’t _quite_ within my range of abilities.

Yet.

Anyway, winter’s always harshest up north, and what do you know? That’s where I happened to drag my whiny Altmer partner in life, entering the hold of Eastmarch and then making a beeline for Windhelm. Well, not so much of a beeline as a drunken stagger, because neither of us are very good at walking in straight lines. And the highwaymen always tend to draw gleeful bandit-slayers such as myself— Oh shush Rumarin, I know better than to include you— a ways from the road, so some backtracking was necessary.

But, just out of curiosity, I’d found my way out to the Windhelm docks, and in the midst of listening to my deflective blade-binding companion hint towards heading back to my house for the day, I’d seen something that disturbed me greatly.

I always knew that, being a Nord-centric city, Windhelm was quite the area for the expression of racist beliefs. Mainly, the Dunmer and the Argonians got the crap jobs, the crap houses, and the crap treatment from other denizens of the city.

So, being the regular one-and-only that lives in this world, I looked on this sight and decided that, while people are assholes— Yes, Rumarin, I added that in there— this was just dumb.

I understand that lizard people would be generally easier to acclimate to cold weather, but… This was _freezing._ The wind was non-stop, the snow was the same, and the Argonians were dutifully doing their jobs _while just dressed in their poor man’s clothes._ I can’t stand it that my own _husband_ refuses to muck about in anything other than those apprentice robes, no matter the weather. But this? This was _cruel_.

I looked to him, and, from how those gold-yellow eyes looked at me, he knew exactly where my train of thought was taking me. So, of course, he tried to hijack it before I could possibly do something incredibly stupid. Or so he thinks, anyway. While he has the fortune of knowing me well enough to tell when I’ll act, he’s usually a couple steps behind on _how_ I get it done.

I don’t know why, it seems as clear as day to me…

“Ah. If you don’t mind me asking,” He started off on a conversational tone, as usual. “You aren’t looking to, oh I don’t know— Plan an insurrection with a band of maltreated minorities at your back, are you? Because I just— To be honest, I look absolutely dreadful with raging fires and debris in the background. It makes sallow skin look just plain dirty, and frankly I need to take care of my looks if I’m going to be showing up everywhere with you.” The more he spoke, the more matter-of-fact his tone got, which meant he was trying not to stray from the point. Good grief.

I rolled my eyes. “Ulfric may be an arrogant sack of horker manure, but I’m not about to turn his citizens against him.” He looked relieved when I said that, so I added nonchalantly, “He doesn’t need any help with that, and to be completely honest, he hasn’t been taking care of his city. Can you imagine it burning? Can you imagine its _smell_ when it’s burning? You can’t smell anything now because everything’s frozen year-round, but if it thawed in the blazes of a dozen burning homes? Ick.”

Rumarin stared at me flatly, and heh. He pouted. “You see, this is what I get for marrying someone that is by far funnier than I am, and uses her powers for the forces of evil. Namely against her husband in the one time he’s trying to get across that he is concerned for her safety annnnnd there she goes.”

He’d sighed that last part, because I’d smiled at the ranting and walked away, because this was what I loved about life. Approaching the nearest pier, I mused over the workers in view, and picked one that I’d come across before. With a slight huff, I hopped from the pier to the boat he was unloading boxes from, causing it to rock a little and startle him.

Scouts-Many-Marshes blinked big, glossy eyes at me before spreading his lips wide in a smile, the teeth in his maw making the friendly gesture not seem like it so much. “What brings you here, friend?” He greeted me politely, practically ceremonially. “I hope your journeys have led you to more peace than this world can offer, on its own.” See?

I smiled back, and didn’t waste any time. “I was just wondering— Which one of these boxes hold the fabric items?” I kept my expression innocent and unassuming, which led the good-natured lizard to answer my question before he could think better of it.

“This one, I think.” He gestured to one that was under two other crates, off to the side. “Why, though? Did you have something shipped in?” He looked to a crowbar sitting a little ways off and reached for it, but I put a hand on his arm and stopped him.

“Oh, no no,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Just, don’t unload it yet. Okay? Now.” I folded my hands together and nodded to myself. “Which store is getting this fine shipment?”

Making a slight funny face in amusement, the dock worker peered at the number on the crate. “This is one that’s being kept by the East Empire Shipping Company.” A frown just as small as his previous face appeared. “I don’t understand…?”

Giving a mischievous little grin, I held a hand up to signal him to give me a moment, and slipped back to shore where Rumarin was watching me with a look of exaggerated defeat. Giggling a bit, I snagged his arm and pulled him over to a door I knew well.

Sliding a wax key from my sleeve, I inserted it into the lock and let out a quiet _“Ah-hah!”_ as it opened. Sauntering into the warehouse like I owned the place, I heard my not-so-cowardly companion gulp loudly. “Sooo… What are we doing, again? I mean, should I start shooting at people if I see them? Or is this one of those times where you flash a smile at one of the guards and get them to take us where you want to go for a ‘personal errand for one of the higher-ups’? Not that I’m jealous or anything.” Of course he had to add that. “I just think it’s absolutely shameful for so many different people to fall for the same act.”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, brows lifted high, before taking a turn around a well-known corner. Coming to the desk at the end of the hall with the sales ledger on it, I made quick work of the numbers, nabbed a small roll of paper and even wrote myself out a nice little receipt.

Rumarin’s jaw almost hit the dusty floor— It better not have, since I kiss that mouth. Yuck. “You’re— Ohhh, I get it now.” He started whispering, as if conspiring. “Steal from the rich and give to the abused, scaly puppies, is that it? Aww, that’s cute. Really. But, uhm. Isn’t this going to get them in trouble?”

I smiled secretively, and lifted a small bag of coin. Plopping it onto the desk next to the ledger, I then put my hand to his shoulder and guided him back out into the safety that _wasn’t_ an invite-only storage facility.

The robed blade-binder seemed to only be able to stare as I went back to Scouts-Many-Marshes, waving my paper in the air as if I just found it. “Ah! Got it!” I ran right back up to the boat and leapt on without preamble. “Could you please open that box for me, now?” I entreated with a slightly breathless smile, as if trying to catch my breath. “If you don’t mind.”

The friendly Argonian gave me a strange look in confusion. “But, I’m not allowed…? If you don’t have an order, then…”

I shook my head, as if the idea of asking him to do something illegal was preposterous. Which wasn’t really too far off the mark. I was looking to help them, not get them in trouble. No, I save my handing out of trouble for the aforementioned assholes. “The whole lot, friend of mine. The whole lot.” I showed him the receipt for proof. I guess all those days spent running jobs for the Thieves Guild really worked in my favor.

When he read it and gave me another strange look, this time I made an embarrassed face. “…I was busy a lot this last fortnight,” I mentioned candidly, as if in admittance. “And I’d, well… I’d forgotten which shipment my order was coming in on. So I’d thought I’d ask you first, just in case I was about to make a fool of myself by asking for the wrong one.” I rubbed the back of my neck and chuckled anxiously.

Scouts-Many-Marshes, too, chuckled at my confession and took up that crowbar he was about to grab earlier. He went on one side of the stack of crates, and blinked in surprise when I went to the other to help move the boxes. “Now now, good lady. I can handle this. It’s my job.” He tried telling me otherwise. Really.

I gave him a placid look, flicking a brow up. “Scouts. Who am I?” I asked rhetorically, smiling when he blinked again, this time rapidly. “I kill dragons to save the world and bandits for fun. I think I can help you with a few heavy boxes.”

This time, he was the one looking embarrassed. “…I forget this, sometimes. I apologize. But, here.” The sneaky lizard— He quickly moved the two crates on top off to the side before I could do anything, and ignored the miffed look I sent him by focusing on cracking the top of the crate with the crowbar. The wooden panel fell to the side with a creak and a groan, and the poor, duped Argonian gave me a blithe smile. “Now, what was it you wanted?”

I blinked, and put up my own pleasant fool’s smile. “What? Oh, this isn’t for me.” I pointed to the receipt. “See the name? That’s my name. I bought it. But the recipient is— Why, that says it’s the Argonian Assemblage of Windhelm, isn’t it? How funny is that?” Seeing his bafflement, I felt my face soften. “You guys haven’t been having an easy time of it, and even more so, recently. The least you can have is decent clothes and furs to work in. Just, well.” I looked over my shoulder in caution. “Just don’t let everyone know they’re from me, okay? Especially Neetrenaza. He hates me, for some reason.” I shuddered.

Scouts-Many-Marshes just stared for a long moment, and his whole body lost its tension slowly, going slack. The crowbar slipped from his hand, and he just stared… “This is…” he started quietly, voice coming out as hisses and cracks. “I would… Be worried that they’d notice. The clothing, I mean. But they don’t pay attention, and what you’ve done… And nobody’s going to know it was you?” He couldn’t seem to understand it. But that was okay, at least.

I just smiled, bowed my head, and hopped back off the boat. Humming, feeling particularly pleased with myself, I moseyed to the awaiting Altmer and hooked my arm through his, once more pulling him back into town.

“…well, I’d always known I was getting into a marriage with a woman possessing of a dragon’s soul,” He mentioned mildly, like he was commenting on the weather. “But I wasn’t informed that the soul was also that of someone who went to rehab for habitual altruism and ended up falling back on bad habits. You really need to keep an eye on that.”

I laughed. “Now, you were saying something about spending the day at Hjerim? That’s strange, since you’re normally bored out of your mind when I leave you home…”


	2. Generosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it still Shouting when it's not, technically, shouting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord, look at this. There's actually another.  
> A second chapter.  
> Done.  
> And in the same month, to boot!  
> Damn, I'm getting better at this! ;w;  
> Granted, it's a short one... But it's a little more blatantly sweet than the last~<3

You know, there’s just something lovely about owning at least one property in every Hold in Skyrim— Granted, they didn’t have pre-prepared food like the inns do, but they also didn’t have the regular customer that somehow ended up sitting in the chair next to my bed while I slept.

Let’s just say that I needed to have a talk with the guards after that incident.

But alas, they call it ‘home sweet home’ for a reason. Walking in the front door, getting a greeting from my housecat that consisted of twenty septims and a taffy stolen from children, the bard playing some unknown instrumental music because Divines help me if I ever let her sing again… It was one of many, but it was still home.

So, it was with extreme exhaustion that I had, without even kicking my boots off, collapsed in the chair next to the fireplace. Sagging in my armor, I shifted to get myself mildly comfortable and then shut my eyes in relief. In spite of my attempts at relaxation, though, my senses pricked with the knowing of Rumarin flopping in the other chair, on the other side of the end table.

It was completely silent, save the strumming of the bard’s lute and the purred mumblings of Amsien, and I was actually beginning to think there was something wrong with the normally-talkative Altmer when he’d dashed that worry across the floor like a cut purse.

“…I’m so hungry.” He sighed, and I’d looked over at him just in time to see him gaze longingly at a bowl of apples on the table between us. Then he looked over at me in faux pleading, clearly exaggerated. “But, it’s like I can’t move my arms. It’s too far away, love. I can’t make it!” He looked up at the heavens. “So, when I have withered away from starvation and excessive laziness, I just want you to know that I really would have left all my earthly possessions to you. Honest. But there are a few, erm, debts that will probably be collected upon my death… Though, I _do_ have a honey nut skewer that’s all yours, that I have stashed in the dresser beside the bed.” Then he groaned. “And I _had_ to mention food…”

I looked at him a little blankly, deciding to feel at least _some_ sympathy for his plight. I’d been there before, I guess. So I directed my attention to the bowl, angled my head the slightest bit, and… “Fus.”

Now, I’d only said it very softly, and yet the result was pretty comical; The wave of force hit the bowl right in the spot I’d aimed for, causing it to skip off the wooden surface and send the apples flying.

Rumarin made something sounding like a _squeak_ as one of the apples nearly got him on the side of the head, two more bouncing off his chest and earning me a grunt in pain. The other two, however, safely landed on his lap and laid there simply. Then he gave me one of the flattest looks that I’d seen on him to date, which caused a wide grin of my own to form. “Always willing to help, husband dear.” I hummed sweetly, and he sighed morosely. I could tell he didn’t mean it, though. Had something to do with the way his lips twitched at the edges.

“Oh, and how I’ve forgotten your generosity, dear wife!” He replied enthusiastically, making me scoff in amusement. “Well, death by food doesn’t sound like a bad way to go on its own. But it’s one thing if you shoot an arrow through someone’s head; It’s a relatively quick and merciful death. But shooting an apple of all things? That’s liable to be painfully non-fatal and downright messy. Do you know how long it would take me to get crushed fruit out of my hood? No thanks.”

I started cracking up, to which the High Elf had triumphantly lifted one of the abused fruit to his mouth and began happily munching away on it. We shared a slightly secretive, sidelong look, and I felt the corners of my own mouth curl up as his motives became clear to me.

For all the morally-questionable things he’s just gone along with, that I’d had to do… Including his penchant for hiding behind witty babble and equally-babbling wit, he still wasn’t a bad guy. In the grand scheme of things, he’s just as much a villain as I am, sure. But, as a person…

…It’s nice to be looked after, even when he won’t admit it.


	3. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dishonesty still had 'honesty' in it, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was brought to write this...  
> ...And it just went in several completely different directions than I wanted it to. And Rumarin may have gotten more depths than he's used to.  
> But, well.  
> I assume he knows how to swim, so no worries about drowning here! :D

The ceremony itself was a simple thing; The Skyforge had been decked out with all the trappings deserving of the passing of such a beloved Harbinger of the Companions, but the people present were the only ones who mattered. Aela, Farkas, Vilkas and all— Even Skjor was mourning Kodlak’s passing from life into death, I’m sure. He may welcome him to Shor’s halls and greet his old friend warmly, but this was a life they had shared as Shield-Brothers. It was something treasured, and to be mourned, surely…

But Skjor and his predecessors would need to wait just a little longer. Until the rite to cleanse old Kodlak’s soul was performed, it would be just a little bit longer…

I will admit that I couldn’t bring myself to pay much attention to the short, brave words spoken to the attendees. And I doubt they would have held me to blame for it, for the kinship each of us shared with the old warrior was special in its own right.

Something was said in a tone of finality, and everyone started to walk away, leading a solemn, proud procession away from the makeshift funeral pyre. I hadn’t even noticed that it had been lit, but now that I could smell the scent of _burning…_ I turned my face away, feeling slightly sick.

I was about to take my leave as well, when a quiet voice called out to me from the side of the forge. “Hey, lass. I have a few words to say, if you’ll be willing to hear ‘em.” I turned to Eorlund, blinking rapidly as I felt my eyes snap back into focus. I meandered over and looked at him curiously. He eyed me as if checking me for wounds, before motioning to me with his chin. “You all right, there? You were somewhere else through the whole thing.”

I smiled sadly, shrugging a shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I added, “What did you need me for?”

Eorlund accepted that as my answer— Though, whether he believed it or not was up for debate. “Aye, well… Kodlak kept the last shard of Wuuthrad close to him, and it should be in his room. I think it would be more fitting, to send you to get it than any of us.”

Nodding and smiling again, I spouted a “Sure,” and made my way back to the doors of Jorrvaskr.

The footsteps that followed me even now were silent, matching the wordlessness of the Altmer they came from. That in itself was nice, I suppose. It felt a little too early, to say something about it… The ‘it’ that just happened, I mean.

The only time I’d ever seen the mead hall empty was at night, so it was strange seeing nobody there, especially with sun streaming through the windows. I didn’t pay it any mind, however. I simply made my way downstairs, slipping into the living quarters and down the hall.

Once I’d entered Kodlak’s room, I peered about, idly letting the pieces of the puzzle come together in my mind. Eorlund said Kodlak kept the shard close to him— He rarely did anything in his room other than sleep, from what I’d seen, so ‘close to him’ would probably be… I stepped up to the end table beside the bed, and slid the drawer open.

Within sat a flat, etched piece of broken blade, and a small red journal. A whole drawer for just this? I thought to myself bemusedly, nabbing the ancient shard and pushing the drawer back shut. When I turned around, though, I learned that the ‘too early’ from before became ‘the right time’. We were alone now, after all.

Rumarin looked at me with a slight cant of his head, and when his lips parted, the words that spilled forth surprised me. “I— I don’t know how to react at funerals. If they say they’re going to a better place, then why does everyone look so sad?” By the Divines, he’s _serious…_

Inhaling deeply, I clasped his arm, patting it a little uselessly before dropping my hand. “Because we’re going to miss him.” I explained patiently, letting out a soft sigh. “Wouldn’t you miss someone close to you, if you were never going to see them again? It helps, knowing that they’re going to be happy wherever they are. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to miss them anyway.”

He fidgeted and looked away for a second. “Yeah, I guess I understand.” He murmured, and then started rambling under his breath. “I would need to have had someone close to me and then had them die in a tragic manner, to really understand. So that means I understand the amount that I usually do. Which is nothing, by the way.” Then, he forcefully lightened his tone, opening the door for me with an exaggerated flourish. “We’d better get that to the blacksmith. Because I have a feeling that I get the blame for whenever you’re late or something bad happens.”

I rolled my eyes, huffing gently as I strode past. “Right.”

 

* * *

 

 

After letting Eorlund have the go-ahead to repair Wuuthrad with the last piece, I’d found myself a little unwilling to join everyone else in the Underforge quite yet. So I sat out on the stairs, enjoying the breeze and the substantial lack of thoughts.

But, of course… Rumarin just wouldn’t let it be. Flopping onto his backside beside me with abandon, he made a show of stretching and rolling his shoulders before rummaging around inside his pack. With a small sound of triumph, he found whatever it was and waved it in front of my nose. “Oh! I wonder what this is?” I’d be able to see if you stopped swinging it… “Where on earth could I have picked this up from? Eh. I leave it to you, then.”

Onto my lap was plopped a small, worn book, and I instantaneously shot him a scathing look. “ _Rumarin._ ” It was the tone of warning I’d rarely had to take with him, but… I just can’t believe he’d—

He held his hands up. “Now now, don’t shoot the messenger. Remember how hard it is to get blood out of your hair before you act, okay?” He bobbed his head a little, and pointed to the journal. “Eorlund was right about something, back there. You’re probably the most proper person to be going through the old Harbinger’s things. You know, with how close and everything you two were. But read that. And you’ll _really_ understand how appropriate it is.”

I held my head in my hands. “Rumarin…” I sighed, wiping my hands down my face. When I looked up, though, I saw how startlingly serious his eyes were, and nodded slowly. I turned my attention to the little journal, gingerly opened it, and peered at the contents…

I don’t know how long it took me to get through all of it, but once I did, I’d closed the pages onto each other softly and set the book aside. Then, I made my waiting partner jump by letting out a bark of laughter, grinning fiercely up at the sky. “Ohh, Kodlak.” I sighed up to the heavens wryly. “Looking after the little one even when she’s off traipsing who-knows-where. I just hope the others don’t have a problem with your decision…”

Then I blinked, when a robed elbow gave me a nudge. “’Looking after’? Is _that_ how you read it?” He asked mildly, seeming to both poke fun at me and try to make a point. “Look at it! It’s all intensely spiritual— All about hearts and fires and dreams and plans for the future. Sad that they never came about, but still. Look at the big picture. Do you know what that means?”

“…He was a poet too?” I answered blankly, confused. Sometimes, I have _no_ idea whatsoever, where his flights of fancy take him…

Rumarin slapped his forehead dramatically. “No. You’re confounding sometimes, do you know that?” Now that was weird. I was just thinking that about _him_ … “You think up different ways to kill dragons for fun, but you can’t even see the— Very obvious, mind you— signs that the old man was in love with you? Are you sure it was Nirn you were born on?” He paused. “Don’t answer that.”

I started sputtering, flabbergasted that he’d even _bring that up._ “He was like a _father_ to everyone, Rumarin!” I didn’t know whether to smack him upside the head for the indecency of it all, or laugh at such an inane idea. “One of that ‘everyone’ being me, too. I think you’re blowing it out of proportion something terrible.”

Rumarin then rolled his eyes at me, folding his arms over his chest with a theatric huff. “Fine, fine. Go and dismiss your husband’s concerns over the lovelorn writings of your deceased leader. My intelligence may be on the level of a dandelion clock prancing on the wind like a bard that ate too many lotus leaves— But pardon me for seeing a three-legged hand-stand for what it is: Impossible.” He leveled a petulant look at me.

I stared. “…What?” I blurted brilliantly, and then proceeded to crack a rib in chortles. He’s just too… Shaking my head, I gave him a dry sidelong glance. “You know something, Rumarin?” I took in a deep breath to replenish what I lost to the laughing. “You really don’t need to try that hard to make me feel better, you know. I’m not going to start falling apart or sobbing, so you don’t need to worry that much.” I shook my head again.

“But that’s what I’d do.” He stated plainly. “When… I was a little ball of snot and tears, when it was Otero’s turn. I really wasn’t close to anyone after that. But, well.” He sighed hugely, and gave me a pointed look. “If you bring this up later, I will deny it even at sword-point. Well, I’d probably admit it again because my throat likes not being stabbed, but you get the drift.” He cleared his throat, as if giving a speech. Funny thing is, his voice _still_ cracked. “If it were you up on that funeral pyre, I’d be a total wreck. And that’s not even because I’m an idiot with all the sentimental value of an overripe banana. So.” He leaned over to peer into my face, all serious-like, before turning it into a seriously-funny bout of squinting. “Did you know your left pupil is a little smaller than your right one? Anyway, what I’m trying to say is— And yes, there _is_ a point to all of this—… Hey, why are you laughing?” Now he was pouting, but I couldn’t help it.

I took advantage of the situation— More like the proximity, but I’d only pecked him, so looking _that_ scandalized was probably only his way of letting me know he understood. …Probably. “I think I get why you were so confused.” I nodded sagely, ignoring his overly-chaste behavior. “Being sad because we can’t see him, and being happy that he’s going to a better place… Backwards, right?” I lightly sprung to my feet, looking down at him with a small grin.

He did the same, and nearly knocked himself off-balance. “Well,” He took a moment to catch himself. “I still say the old bear carrying a torch is all kinds of not-okay, but I think being sad for him is okay. A little.”

I sent him a flat look. “Rumarin.”

He hummed. “Sorry, sorry.” He had a strangely serene smile... “I should have said wolf instead, I know.”

I hit him, laughing.


	4. Ferocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because you can't make me, dammit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total self-indulgence here, but I shall trust and believe that there are others that will find vindication in this chapter. B)

Sometimes, Rumarin didn’t understand how he got into half the situations he did. Well, some were explainable, such as when they were on a quest for some Daedric prince or other higher power. His wife was the exalted Dragonborn, the one who defeated Alduin and saved the entire world in the process. Thus, she got to hear all the mystical voices and see all the evil spirits. All he did was attempt to see where she was aiming with her weapon, and try not to hit her with an arrow in the process.

He didn’t mind it most of the time. Frankly, he never found himself bored and the fabled Dovahkiin looked awful cute when she asked him for favors.

This one, though? He wasn’t going off of nothing but faith that his spouse wouldn’t let some invisible, all-powerful being turn him into a goat in exchange for some equally all-powerful weapon. No, this time, he _knew_ what was going on, and figured it was a lot more merciful that she didn’t tell him all those other times. Well, until everything was over, anyway.

Right now, at this very moment, he was freezing his backside off at the top of a mountain, but he wasn’t doing it because he was just _told_ to. Actually, what he was told was pretty much _‘sit back and watch the show.’_ In getting along with the Dovahkiin, however, he started learning when she was about to do something so crazy it might have horrible repercussions later on. A quip here, a nudge there, and he might cause her to waver or change her mind. But not this time.

So he shivered at the Throat of the World, hands shoved into his sleeves and shoulders hunched against the bitter chill enveloping him…

For the purpose of warning off the vague figures trekking their way up the side of the mountain, slowly but steadily.

“If this isn’t proof of my undying devotion, I want a divorce.” He muttered to himself between chattering teeth, his words slightly muffled in the force of the wind. Or maybe it was just how numb his lips were. That was probably it.

Before long, there was a break in the blistering torrents of blown snow and ice, finally showing the wind-whipped faces of Delphine and the poor, crippled-seeming, staggering form that could only be the old man she dragged up here with her. Es-something? Rumarin wasn’t too sure of his name.

They spotted him easily once they came close enough, and yep, Delphine immediately reached for her sword. Rumarin owed himself a sweet roll when he gets back home. …Or _if_ he gets home, that is. “The first wave of resistance, and it’s just you? Or did you just get _lost_ or something?” The current leader of the Blades veiled the sneer thinly.

The Altmer would have been miffed, if he’d cared the slightest whit of her opinion. “Well, you see, I was on the way to the Bannered Mare,” He started explaining casually, attempting to push his shoulders higher in a shrug to no avail. “And since the storm came in, I kinda got turned around a few times. And look where I ended up! Right in front of you, on the top of the tallest mountain in the entire continent, to tell you that if you intend on going on up there, I can guarantee it won’t end well. For you. Wow, you’re involved in that sentence a lot.” He tried spreading his hands in appeasement, but jumped and skittered back a few steps when her sword was drawn on him. His own bow was conjured without a second thought about it, but he stayed his hand for the moment.

Delphine’s eyes narrowed, but she seemed to notice his less-than-enthusiastic attitude to fighting back, for she did not make any other display of aggression. “You know why we are here, elf. His life is ours, and we cannot tolerate any obstructions. Get out of the way, or you’ll be one.”

Talk, come on Rumarin _say something_ — And, as always, his mouth obeyed. “What’s with the homicidal tendencies? I mean, why hate on Paarthurnax at all? Haven’t you ever heard of the mythical creature known as the ‘reformed criminal’? The quest for redemption and all that? Sure, they said dragons didn’t exist either, but here they are. So why not give him a cha—”

He jolted back another step, nearly falling on his rear as a short jab was given with the sword previously held back.

“There is no redemption for his crimes.” The blond spat tersely. “This is your last warning, elf. Move or be cut down.”

And what came next had Rumarin wincing.

“Oh? And by what standards are you basing who’s worthy of redemption, Delphine? And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop harassing my husband. It might have been a lesson in futility, but he truly thought he could stop this before it started. So at least honor his intentions by leaving him in one piece.”

Squinting against the blaring white around him, over his shoulder, he saw a human shape perched on the ledge overlooking the hill-path to the very top of the mountain. Even in the terrible weather, he saw the tip to an arrow gleam as it was knocked, poised to hit either one of the two targets before him. It also might have been because of the shine of magic surrounding it, but that only mattered if the shot itself didn’t kill them, and she had a pretty good vantage point…

Delphine also cocked her head back to look at the one whom had called down so confidently, and replied, “The standards of all the widows, sons and daughters left without their loved ones, due to his actions. The ruin of the world, the sacrifices we had to make!”

“You say that as if you were there yourself.” This was jeered down to them without pause. Rumarin tried not to think of where this was going, and rather wracked his brains for more verbosity to spew at them.

Then, it was surprising when the old man behind Delphine— What _was_ his name, again?— found the strength to shout over the wind, his own piece. “Why do this, Dragonborn? You have no reason to defend him, when you were the person who had to erase his treachery! You saw evidence of it firsthand!” The voice was a little more pleading than Delphine’s tenacity had shown, but there was still the resigned determination to do what must be done.

“Because this goes beyond right, wrong and vengeance.” The arrow was pulled a little tighter, the tension of the bowstring still somehow audible through the din. “I killed Alduin because he was a monster, the same way any man or mer can become a monster. Drunk on power, or whatever other reasons he had. But he was on the same tier as any other scum I ended, because he had no remorse for his actions. He meant nothing to me when his blood stained my blade.” Rumarin blinked, slightly startled with the charisma his spouse’s vehemence was drawing out of her. “But you can’t be satisfied with the vengeance you were given. The hand that dealt the damage was given the punishment, but now you want it to extend to Paarthurnax too? Give me a break!” A warning shot whistled through the air and landed at the duo’s feet, either emphasis to her ire or to fend them off, the Altmer didn’t know. All he knew was that he knew absolutely nothing.

Delphine grit her teeth, but they had nothing to say for the moment, so Rumarin once more tried mitigation. “…so, it _might_ have just come to your attention, but she turns into a bit of a badass when she gets angry.” He started conversationally. “As I said, this probably isn’t going to end well for you. If you back off now, you might even keep both your ears. She loves shooting those off first.”

Then, unexpectedly, he was addressed by the fuming archer. “Rumarin, get up here. They aren’t going to change their minds, and I’d rather you be behind my arrows than in front of them.” He literally _felt_ it when she glanced at him, before retraining her eyes upon her prey. “Or at least stand off to the side. You’re the only one allowed to not take a side, in this. I won’t hold it against you.” He floundered at that, because he was under the perpetual impression that he followed and generally didn’t form opinions on profound things. Or anything, really.

“Is that what this is?” Delphine suddenly burst out, cry hoarser than it had been earlier. “A selfish bid to save something, just because you _want_ _to?_ ” Once more her blade was brandished, but her march was halted before it could start, the arrow still locked on them…

“Damn right it is.” The draconic defender admitted easily, stunning them all— Rumarin included. “You want reasons, though? Fine. Have some.” Her voice gained what could almost be called a bitter edge to it. “Dragons are the sons of Akatosh. Do you _really_ want to kill the ones that don’t _need_ killing? I think there’s only so far one can cross the line before _no_ afterlife wants you.” A laugh was then given, on an oddly light tone. “And, you know… Since this is ‘selfish’, as you say, this is the main one. I am tired.” She abruptly stood, never loosening her grip on the bow, pointing it downwards without wavering. “I went through this whole, shall we say, _ordeal_ with little to no help from _anyone._ Minus the dashing Altmer in the front row, of course.” Said Altmer wasn’t exactly of the mind that levity was a good idea, here… “The first person to give me legitimate, solid answers about _anything_ going on wasn’t a person at all. It was a dragon, and he asked _nothing_ of me in return. Nothing.” Then, perhaps out of frustration, the arrow was let loose, to fly past her audience closely. Another was drawn from her quiver and nocked smoothly. “You see, I’ve spent all my time here doing _everything_ for _everyone_. So, a little unconditional help was appreciated.”

“And so our aid was _nothing?_ ” Delphine roared over the wind, cheeks flushing from more than just the cold.

The Dragonborn laughed. “Your aid was _conditional._ You help me, and I do such-and-such. What was it, you told me? If I didn’t kill Paarthurnax, you’d stop supporting me? Who wants the support of someone whose loyalty is so easily swayed, anyway? You don’t serve the Dragonborn, you serve yourselves. The Blades.” Only missed shots had been taken up until then, but that might have been because the pinpoint strikes were her words, instead. “You see, being the Dragonborn means I have a dragon’s soul. Even other dragons have confirmed this. If I killed someone who openly wants, and _strives_ for redemption just because someone else can’t let go of a centuries-long grudge… If I follow tradition, that means I will be living with that regret for a time longer than most people ever have to. And, unlike _his_ intentions, there would be no way for me to ‘make it all better’. Dead is dead.” She paused, glaring. “Which you will be, if you don’t back off from Rumarin a little. He makes a _terrible_ hostage, trust me.” Her tone hardened as she spoke that last part quickly.

The last two members of the Blades stepped back, and it was only then that Rumarin had realized that they had been slowly approaching him, inch-by-inch.

Perhaps now is a good time to retreat.

He turned and tromped up the hill as fast as possible, and once he stood on the outcropping of rock beside the incensed woman, he realized that the weather was far fairer up there. Shaking his head a bit to dislodge the random thoughts, he held up his bow, and conjured an arrow to his fingers. Strangely, this seemed to surprise his wife, and a brief but warm smile was given to him before she returned her attention to those below.

Well then, he thought. He didn’t quite know what he did to earn her gratitude, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Now with twice the amount of fletchings to potentially protrude from their bodies, both the Breton and that Es… Esbern! That was his name! Rumarin mentally whooped to himself. Well, the both of them seemed to reconsider their options, and the grinding of the leader’s teeth was visible, if not audible. “…The Blades have a long memory. Remember that.” With those as her last words, she turned and began her departure, Esbern sending a regretful look behind him before following.

Then, once there was nothing more but snow swirling around them, she abruptly sagged on the spot. Arrow removed from the bowstring, shoulders slouched, head angled back to look at the sky in relief…

…or it could be the dragon that was suddenly soaring overhead when it very much had _not_ been before, causing everything in the vicinity to go deaf as it went. But, while he was briefly covering his ears, she merely grinned, slipped the arrow back into her quiver, and dragged him over to the Word Wall.

Paarthurnax perched upon it heavily, wingtips grasping stone efficiently. “ _Hin paal mah vothni funt, Dovahkiin._ Your foes fall without fail.” A growled voice, deep and echoing, boomed gently across the area. “I had not asked you to defend me, for I had not been in need of defending. Surely you know this.” A scaled head lowered to meet their gazes, and Rumarin couldn’t stop the gulp he made if he _tried_. Meeting dragons face-to-face was far different from shooting them out of the sky, and he didn’t see himself getting used to it any time soon.

“Oh, you know me,” The blade-binder gave his input awkwardly. “Always fighting the same battles, and all. No need to build any statues in my honor or anything.”

Thankfully, they ignored him. “Oh, Paarthurnax. If you took this as an insult, I apologize. But I wasn’t defending you from weapons. No, if they came up here, even I know you would have torn them to pieces.” She winked. Of course, Rumarin added mentally, she wasn’t going to elaborate further. Not even a dragon ever got the full story from her.

Scales the color of desert rock rippled on his back as the old dovah laughed. “ _Faasnu rot._ You say much, but tell little.” And, evidently Paarthurnax knew it well. “I am grateful for your allegiance, _dovahkiin_.”

“Friendship.” She corrected him with a serious bob of her head. Then, she laughed too. “I don’t know if there’s a word for it in dovahzul, though.” Her arms folded, and a shrug was given. “Also, I had an intriguing thought some time ago, about this. If I’m being presumptuous, feel free to engulf me in a ball of flames, but— Doesn’t being Dovahkiin make us family?” Rumarin felt the blood drain from his face at the prospect of it, as she asked this blithely.

The dovah, however, snorted in amusement. “Give us a century, and we may one day call each other such. But, for now, I will gladly call you _fahdon_. For you are surely friend, to have done this today.” Then, large, slit pupils landed on the Altmer beside her, and he wondered if falling over was an appropriate reaction to have. “Your _ahmul_ — Your partner in life seems to have other opinions on the matter.”

The elf’s mouth opened as he made to head _that_ impending argument off. “Ah, no, no. I was just, ah. Well, I suppose I’ll be the lucky guy with a dragon for a father-in-law, right? Who else can say that?” He hoped that if he profaned enough gods in this moment, they might strike him down with lightning before he said anything more. Alas, ‘twas not to be.

His wife gave him a strange look. “…Paarthurnax, don’t mind him.” She said slowly, cautiously— Rumarin pouted when he realized she was doing it to tease him. “It’s not that he isn’t this odd, but he’s usually a lot more… Abstract, with it.” Her eye twitched in a way suspiciously reminiscent of a wink.

Paarthurnax didn’t miss a beat. “It is not I that needs pardon.” He rumbled in amusement. “Rather, I would give you sympathies and regards. It is a true test of mettle, to have such a partner.”

The Altmer threw his arms into the air. “I give up. I know I am absolutely in no way a match for my darling Dovahkiin, and I should be praising every single deity that ever smote a fool that I was lucky enough to snag her. Happy now?” His hands went back into his sleeves, numbed by the cold yet again.

They laughed.


	5. Modesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing demons everywhere isn't a good way to prove one's sanity.  
> Or is it?

Rumarin didn’t think about it often— Only about every single day or so— but there had been a certain jovial kinship between he and the Dragonborn, right from when they first met. Granted, being attacked by skeletons as an introduction was a… Unique way to start things. But even during the moment where he’d been knocked onto his rear with a particularly ladylike screech, the Bosmer had, with a sword in each hand and a merry grin on her face, cracked a joke as she smashed his attacker to pieces.

Rumarin also didn’t think about the differences between the two, either— How she seemed to know vast libraries of knowledge despite looking to be relatively young by elven standards, or how each weapon she picked up was at home in her hand, or the most blaringly obvious of them all: His blithe approach to life was countered by her rampant inability to resist helping every single person she comes across. Which, at a distance, would seem to be very noble; But seeing as how he had quite a close-up view of it numerous times already, it also meant that they got little to no rest.

He might be in the best shape of his life by sole virtue of being run ragged, but there was one unforgiveable factor to their partnership that he got increasingly baffled on.

Why was everyone hitting on her?

Okay, so it wasn’t _everyone_ , but to an Altmer that secretly counted his blessings whenever he remembered his arithmetic, it was more than his delicate ego was comfortable with.

First, it had been their sojourn into Riverwood, which was the worst, really. It had all started when their hostess, Sigrid, had made a poorly veiled warning to stay away from her husband. He couldn’t exactly _blame_ her, since a pretty adventurer could instill a certain amount of excitement in the air, but really? His companion had done nothing but be polite to the blacksmith, so did it really warrant that much… Suspicion? Was that the word for it? Alvor hadn’t ever crossed the line of propriety as far as he could tell, but then again he really didn’t have any idea what propriety was.

Then, that night at the inn, it happened again. Maybe it was just meant to be a friendly greeting— _“A new face, huh?”_ —but the part that was added— _“A quite fair one, at that.”_ —was entirely unnecessary.

The compliment was taken with a strangely innocent grace, like she didn’t know what it meant when a man told her such. And even a pea-brained Altmer could see that such behavior would only encourage them. Not to mention that old Hod had not a chance in Nirn.

None.

Nada.

…Okay, so perhaps, the bladebinder admitted grudgingly, he might have gotten— gasp— _protective_ feelings pretty early on. But before anyone would get any wild notions that he actually had positive qualities, there was the teensy tiny fact that he had never, ever acted upon them. Not that he knew _how_ , anyway.

Oh, he could see it now— His Thu’um-capable partner quaking in the face of the unwanted advances of some drunken Nord at the Winking Skeever— Yeah, here’s lookin’ at you, Erik— and the heroic Altmer would break in between them, and let him know _exactly_ where he could stick his attention… Except that the Dragonborn didn’t quake for anything but the cold, Erik couldn’t form a cohesive sentence whilst inebriated, and the both of them would probably do nothing but pass out from laughter at his attempt. …His own attempt, he meant. Though, laughing at Erik would be a close second…

…Or she would just stare at him, and start punching him in the stomach, briskly ordering whatever was possessing him to get out on the pain of death.

What? Specific? Not like that has actually _happened_ before… Okay, once. Twice if you count that time when he was roped into being an example of one of the Maramal’s speeches at the Bee and Barb. …Next point.

Where was he? Oh. Unwanted attention.

Now, for a less-obvious specimen, there was Erdi. Oh, Erdi. The maid who happened to be a bard— somehow— in the Blue Palace, who said that his companion, _“Made adventuring look so… Appealing.”_ He mimicked her voice in his head. Bah.

That was creepy. He was probably the only one who thought so, and he was completely fine with that. But you don’t just walk up to someone, whom you have never met, and start giving _moon-eyes_ about _being on the road_ with them. There are plenty of travelers that go through Solitude— And he didn’t see her approach any of _them_ with her creepy sales pitch for a _‘traveling companion’_ —!...

 

_The Altmer furiously scribbling at the desk, flipping pages and messily slopping ink in the meantime never noticed the two sets of eyes watching him, one with amazement and the other with worry._

_“He seems awfully… Intent on whatever he’s writing, isn’t he?”_

_Teldryn snorted softly. “I’m more stuck on that he knows what letters are, let alone how to use a quill and ink.” He lifted a brow clinically._

_She shot him a reproving look, then went rueful. “Well… I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts complaining about a cramp in his hand, later.” She admitted._

_The Dunmer looked supremely bored for a second, before shooting her a sly look. “How about a wager? How long until he notices we are here?” He asked nonchalantly. His employer coughed back a chuckle unsuccessfully._

_“He’ll be there all day, for all I know. And I ain’t about to take a losing bet.” She nudged him with her elbow._

_He hummed in his throat, disappointed. “Well, that’s no fun. Well, while he’s so absorbed in his new dream-diary or what have you, I could use a drink. Your treat.”_

_She sighed flatly as he steered her out the door. “Of course it is.”_

_Meanwhile, the oblivious Rumarin continued scratching his haphazard words onto paper, **“Now, on that Telryn Sarcophagus or whatever his name is…”**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Rumarin, you're gettin' a little neurotic, there...


End file.
